


my mistakes go on and on, in truth i hate to be alone

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in the majors is like being back in high school except Brandon isn’t one of the cool kids this time.</p><p>Title taken from In My Blood by Black Stone Cherry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my mistakes go on and on, in truth i hate to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for aliciawonderland.

Being in the majors is like being back in high school except Brandon isn’t one of the cool kids this time. He’s not _un_ popular but he’s not one of the kings. Not like Buster fucking Posey, golden god with beautiful blonde babies and a damn fantastic wife who’s both drop dead gorgeous and doesn’t mind him sleeping with guys. She especially doesn’t mind when she gets to watch and when Lincecum is involved, all the better.

Haylee had minded. Haylee had minded a whole lot. Haylee had divorced him but that had been almost okay because crawford had been happy and hadn’t dumped him.

Maybe he’s paranoid. Maybe it’s that he sometimes still feels like he doesn’t belong. (And that feeling gets so much worse when he’s bumped from first in favor of Posey.) He’ll readily admit that most of his insecurities go back to Buster Posey. And who can blame him? The guy is more popular, more talented, better looking and Brandon’s boyfriend has had a megacrush on him for years.

Now’s a good example of why he so often writes ‘today sucked’ when he gets his daily text from Whiteside asking how he’s doing. Eli doesn’t bother trying to cheer him up. For some reason, he’s always shrugged off Brandon’s worries about his boyfriend. easy for him. Not all of them are graced with homicidally jealous Puerto Rican sexasses for a lover. Some of them get fluffy, laid back California boys with a crush on Buster fucking Posey.

Today, Bumgarner, Affeldt and posey are parked at their usual table in the clubhouse. The added addition is a Brandon Crawford, _his_ Brandon Crawford, sitting with them with stars in his eyes. He’s kicking their asses at dominoes and grinning like it’s the best day of his life. He hands his orange soda to Buster when prompted. Of course he does. He’s probably freaking thrilled to share Posey’s germs. He never once looks Brandon’s way. Brandon yanks his hoodie on, grabs his glove and a ball and stalks out onto the field.

He wanders out into the outfield, looks around and takes it all in. Blanco and Torres are running the stairs. Vogelsong is brooding in the dugout. Pagan and Pence are playing long toss along the warning track. Brandon looks up, watches the seagulls circling overhead before faceplanting into the grass. One arm is folded up under his forehead to get the grass out of his mouth and nose. He is low, low as the lowest worm and this will be his home now.

For a while, he enjoys ambient noise and the not unpleasant smell of fresh cut grass. the grass is thick, muffling any sound and when someone clears their throat up above him, he almost jumps. Almost, but he doesn’t, for he is a worm and worms do not jump. When Pence laughs and asks if he scared him, Brandon informs him of this. Pence says nothing but Pagan bursts into a fit of laughter. One of them sits in the grass next to his head, probably Pagan, and starts petting his hair.

“What’s wrong, jirafa bebé?” Pagan asks lightly. “Your lunch money, was it stolen?”

“Huff’s gone, he was the one that always stole my food.” Brandon mumbles, rolling onto his back and placing his glove over his face. “It’s nothing. It’s really really stupid and it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Pence answers, poking his shoulder. “We won’t laugh at you much.”

“But you will laugh.” Brandon mutters. He’s got to give them points for honesty though. “Have you ever been with someone that has a huge crush on someone else? So big that it scares you a little to even see them talking to each other?”

“I thought you were over your divorce.”

Brandon scowls at the inside of his glove. “I am. Answer the question.”

Pence is the one who speaks up. “Yep. When I played in Houston. I was with Castro for almost two years. But he fell for Lyles the second he saw him and he fell so hard... well. He fell hard.”

“What’d you do?”

“I tried to be enough.” Pence yawns. “And Jace tried to hide it. But we finally admitted it wasn’t going to work because duh, of course it wasn’t going to work when he’s in love with someone else.”

Brandon’s heart sinks. This is not the kind of story he wants to hear. “What did you do _then_?”

“Moved on. Spent almost two years alone, brooding and having one night stands I always ended up regretting. Then I came to San Francisco and started over. Happiest I’ve ever been.” Pence says softly, and Brandon can just hear the smile in his voice.

He tips his head enough that his glove slides halfway off his face and Pence and Pagan are looking at each other like there’s no one else in the world. when Pence actually dares to kiss him, out where they could be seen by anyone, Brandon decides he hates the world. He rolls onto his knees and pushes himself, heading back inside the park.

He needs to get away from stupid, disgustingly perfect couples that don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of them, just like he needs to _stay_ away from stupid perfect golden boy catchers that get to have it all. It isn’t fair. Posey has everything and he’s probably going to take one of the only people in the world that Brandon can really call his own. And Crawford will let it happen. He’ll probably be thrilled. Baby giraffe who?

The clubhouse is quiet when he comes back, Posey and his entourage nowhere in sight. Brandon mumbles a quiet thanks to whoever’s listening and grabs his jacket. The largest, most comfortable couch in the clubhouse is claimed as his own and he pulls his jacket over his head. If he can’t see anyone then they can’t see him and they can’t ruin his life and steal his boyfriend.

When he wakes up, the room is buzzing with noise, crowded with his teammates, and he can’t move his legs. They’re a little numb and he’s terrified for all of a second before thinking it might be a good idea to see what the heavy weight on them in. He pushes his jacket down and peeks over the edge. Crawford is sitting half on his thighs, butt sliding down behind them onto the couch, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he plays with his phone.

When he notices Brandon looking at him, he shoots Brandon a quick look and a small smile. “Hey baby. Good nap?”

“It was fine.” Brandon mutters, struggling to turn over. He manages to make it onto his back. Crawford doesn’t move. “How was your adventure with his royal highness?”

There’s no hiding the sarcasm and venom in his voice and Crawford’s head snaps up. First he frowns and then he outright beams. “Oh my god. You’re jealous! You’re jealous of Buster!”

“Fuck you.” Brandon snaps, struggling to move. “Fucking get off of me. Just leave me alone.”

“Huh uh.” Crawford answers cheerfully. “You’re an idiot.”

“Well thanks. Tell your new boyfriend what an idiot I am while I go and call my agent and demand a trade.” He answers crossly. Being angry keeps him from crying.

Crawford rolls his eyes and lays down on top of Brandon. It can’t be comfortable, being sandwiched between Brandon and the back of the couch, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He takes Brandon’s jacket, pulls it over their bodies and rests his cheek against Brandon’s for a moment before kissing his ear.

“Silly giraffe.” He whispers, squeezing Brandon’s hand under the jacket and smiling against his skin. “You know I love you.”

It’s ridiculous, because in spite of his really crappy day and his being utterly convinced Crawford would leave him for Posey, when Crawford says it like this, kissing and holding him where the whole damn team can see them, he _knows_ it. He really does. He sighs and closes his eyes before tipping his head back and stealing a kiss.

“Love you too.” He mumbles, groaning when he hears the shutter as someone takes a picture. “I don’t know who that is but go away.”

“Okay.” Pagan laughs. “But I’m sending a copy of this to Buster.”

“I don’t mind even a little bit.” Brandon laughs, flushing and kissing Crawford again.

Crawford beams. A disgusted Affeldt orders them to stop making out in the clubhouse. They ignore him.


End file.
